A Ghost of a Chance
by AnneM.Oliver
Summary: He was supposed to be dead, but everyone claimed he was back as a ghost. Hermione didn't believe in people coming back from the dead. She didn't even believe in love, because he was her first love, but he left her. She wasn't sure she could ever forgive him for that. They don't have a ghost of a chance of finding their way back to each other, whether he's really alive or not.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer – all characters and canon situations belong to JK Rowling and I make no money from the writing or publishing of these stories. Thank you!

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_**(Written for The Maple Bookshelf's 'Something Wicked This Way Comes' October 2012 Challenge. Prompt used: "I never thought I'd see you again. Can the dead feel love?")**_

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_**A Ghost of a Chance  
By  
Anne M**_

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**_._**

**Shoes**

There came a time in a person's life when she had to decide one way or another exactly HOW she would face a problem. Either she would face a problem head on, rise to the occasion, take the bull by the horns and all that rubbish… or she would sit idly by and try to act as if there was no problem happening at all, and hope that the problem would either go away or solve itself.

Today, Hermione Granger was trying very hard to act as if no problem was happening at all. Of course, today's problem was rather small in the scope of things, and she should know, for she had faced some rather large problems in her life.

Her problem today was her shoes, or more aptly, her lack thereof. Slipping her shoes off while under her desk was a common and everyday occurrence to her. Nevertheless, there always came the inevitable moment when she was faced with the task of placing her shoes back on her feet. Usually this happened without fanfare or fuss. Usually it happened without anyone else being any the wiser, for USUALLY when she slipped her shoes off her feet (as she USUALLY did) she almost, ALWAYS was able to put them back on again without anyone noticing.

But not today.

So now she was faced with the problem of having to stand behind her desk as the Minister of Magic, the Head Auror and one of her fellow investigators in the Department of Mysteries all entered her office – and she had to face them shoeless. All because twenty minutes earlier she had the misfortune of slipping off too tight shoes, kicking them somewhat too far away, and then faced with the dilemma of being in her stocking feet when three rather important men entered her office.

Although really, she would only be embarrassed if ONE of the three found out she couldn't find her shoes underneath her desk. The Minister of Magic was a wizard by the name of Andrew Williams, and he was remarkably popular, talented, young, and so far, successful as an elected official. She would hate him to find her lounging about her office with her shoes kicked off her feet. In fact, she would be mortified.

The Head Auror was none other than Harry Potter. Harry had seen her without more things than her shoes, so she was all right on that account.

Her fellow investigator was Draco Malfoy, and frankly, though he sometimes still made Hermione cringe, she could care less what he thought of her.

Harry smiled as the three made their way into her office. Only the Minister of Magic held out his hand as Hermione stood (sans shoes). Taking his hand, she shook it and smiled. Harry nodded his hello and Draco grunted and mumbled something akin to a greeting under his breath.

"Hello, Gentlemen, to what do I owe the honour of your presence?" Hermione greeted, motioning to the two seats in front of her desk. Two of the men could sit. One could stand.

Draco and the Minister of Magic sat even as Harry drew something out of his pocket and threw it on her desk.

Hermione picked it up. It was a bracelet with blue stones, probably sapphires, interwoven with silver beads with intricate etchings on the silver. It looked to be an antique, and worth a great deal of money.

Hermione took it that 'this' was the answer to her first question, but still, she asked, "What's this?"

Harry pointed toward the bracelet in her hand and said, "That is an heirloom that was sold by Amos Diggory last year upon his wife's death."

Hermione frowned as she continued to finger the bracelet, finally placing it on top of her desk. "Didn't Mr. Diggory just die a while back, too?"

"Yes," Harry supplied. "Amos died of a heart ailment three months ago. Then two months ago…" and he suddenly stopped talking to look at the other men.

Hermione continued to frown. "Two months ago?" she prompted.

"Two months ago, the items that Mr. Diggory had sold a year prior, pieces of his wife's jewelry, and pieces of art from their home, had started coming up missing from their new owners. Stolen, if you will."

Hermione raised her eyebrows while Draco said the obvious, "Which leaves Mr. Diggory out as a suspect, since he's gone on to the afterlife."

Glaring at the blond man, Hermione moved her left foot forward to try to locate her left shoe. She felt something. It was a shoe! She edged it closer. The Minister said, "It's a mystery, to be sure, but so far, at least ten items that Amos sold in the year between his wife's death and his has been stolen."

Looking at Harry she asked, "Do you have a suspect?" Again, Harry looked sharply at the other men before he looked back at her. "What?" she asked annoyed. "Tell me."

He sighed. "It's so preposterous, Hermione," he began, "but the witnesses' accounts were all the same. A man, late twenties, tall, light brown hair, grey eyes, extremely handsome, and they even said he was kind. They all even said that they 'wanted' to give the items back to him, and didn't notice what they were doing until he left."

"You said 'back' to him," she pointed out. "What aren't you telling me?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, and then brought his hand up to his mouth, stalling to answer. Looking over toward the two men sitting, he said, "Draco, why don't you tell her."

Raising her eyebrows, she turned her rapt attention to Draco.

"My mother saw a lovely brooch in a jewelry store three months ago. Mother of Pearl inlay, solid gold, intricate design. She told my father about it and he dispatched me to get it for him. Being the ever obedient son, I went to the jewelers the next day."

Hermione snorted. Moving her right leg forward she started her search for her wayward right shoe, since her left shoe was now firmly on her foot.

"I was walking down Diagon Alley with the purchase, not done with my errands for the day, when suddenly a man appeared in the mouth of an alley, pointing a wand directly at my chest," Draco said.

Hermione sat upright, her search for her shoe on hold. Now the story was interesting. She always liked hearing about Draco having a wand pointed at him. "Go on."

"Let me tell you, Granger, if a man points a wand at your chest and tells you to follow him, you do it, and so I did. I walked down the alley, at this point though I was in front of him. The alley was so dark. It was narrow, between two tall buildings. There was hardly any light. When we got toward the middle, he told me to stop. I turned around and he was holding out his hand. He said, 'The brooch please'. Well, I tried to act nonchalant, and said, 'What brooch', but he said, 'if you value your life, you'll give me the brooch'. Well, of course, I value my life, so I gave him the bloody brooch. I was sure my parents would have approved."

"Did you feel compelled to give it to him, as some of the other witnesses claimed?" she asked.

"The only thing I felt compelled to do was to live, Granger," he said dryly.

"So that means he doesn't necessarily use the Imperius curse to compel the person to give the item to him, or at least, he didn't with you," Hermione reasoned, standing up, one shoe on, one shoe off.

Draco laughed. "No, his wand pointing at my chest was all the convincing I needed."

Hermione walked toward Draco's chair. "Did you get a good look at him?"

Draco looked down at her legs. "Are you missing a shoe, Granger?" He looked back up at her and smiled. "Is your salary inadequate to the point where you can only afford one shoe at a time?"

"Never mind that, did you get a good look at him?"

"Yes, I did," Draco said, the smile gone. Then he looked back toward Harry.

Harry swallowed hard and said, "Hard as this is going to seem to be, Hermione, by all accounts, the person stealing all of the Diggory's items is none other than Cedric Diggory."

At that astounding news, Hermione sucked in a breath, and then went back to her chair so she could sit down before she fell down from shock. She wasn't even going to argue with Harry, because he had that look on his face that already told her that he believed it to be true.

"How can that be, Harry?" she said in almost a whisper, leaning forward slightly in her desk chair. "You know better than anyone that Cedric Diggory was killed by Voldemort on June 24, 1995."

Harry walked over toward her and sat on the edge of her desk. Taking her hand in his he said, "I know that, but I've seen stranger things in my lifetime as a wizard, and so have you Hermione. Stranger than this. Listen, it's not only Malfoy's word that I'm taking as the final say on this…"

"Well thank you, Potter," Draco sneered from his chair.

Harry ignored him and continued, "but given the other witnesses accounts, and the fact that it's only the Diggory items that have been stolen, I think we have to put credence to the fact that it might be Cedric, or at least, some form of him."

Narrowing her gaze, she leaned back in her chair. "What do you mean, some form of him?"

The Minister spoke up. "Several witnesses claimed that the culprit came into their warded homes, and that he was more of a spectral, or a spirit."

"Yet he was corporeal enough to handle jewelry," Hermione snorted. "Listen, gentlemen, I don't really think the ghost of Cedric Diggory is going around stealing his mother's jewelry, do you? I also don't think he's an Inferi, so what does that leave us? Could it be Polyjuice potion? But no, I don't think so." She swirled on her chair to face Draco. "Draco? Was the person who took the brooch from you alive or a ghost?"

"He was most certainly alive, and he looked just like Cedric Diggory would look, if he was older, so that leaves out Polyjuice, but yet that's impossible too, isn't it, Granger, because we were all on that field when Potter brought his body back. We all saw him dead." Draco stood from his seat, pushed her chair (and her) back to some extent, reached under the desk and pulled out her last 'lost' shoe. "Here, I believe this is yours."

"Thank you," she said sincerely, placing it on her right foot. She took a deep breath while she considered the option that Cedric Diggory, as either a ghost or something more sinister, was back from the dead. She quickly thought of the last time she had seen him alive - and then just as quickly squashed that memory back into the deep recesses of her mind.

None of the men here needed to know exactly WHAT Cedric Diggory meant to her. And certainly, none of these men needed to know what it might mean to her to know that he was back. Looking up at the three men, she asked, "How do you want to continue?"

"That's where the bracelet comes in," Harry remarked. "We want you to take the bracelet and wear it to the Ministry's dinner tomorrow night. There'll be plenty of Aurors about, but in addition to that, you're a trained investigator, and there's no one more capable than you if something should occur, which we hope will."

Hermione bit her lip and picked up the bracelet. Should she tell the men that she had her own piece of jewelry, a ring, that Cedric gave her when she was just a girl? He once claimed it belonged to his mother. She could use that to draw out 'his ghost' just as easily as she could use this bracelet. "I wasn't planning on attending," she said. "I haven't bought a dress, nor do I have an escort."

Draco shrugged. "And that's where I come in, Granger. I'll pick you up at seven sharp and I'll send you over something appropriate to wear." He stood, as did the Minister of Magic. After the Minister left her office, Draco turned around and said, "How about I even send over a pair of shoes that fit?" He laughed and flitted out the door.

Hermione sighed then turned back to Harry. "What do you really think of all of this?" She stood and walked over to him.

"I just don't know, Hermione. I really don't know," was all he said in return. He kissed her cheek and turned, leaving her office.

Hermione plopped back into her chair. Slipping the bracelet onto her wrist, she decided that her earlier assessment remained the same, but slightly altered. It was true that there came a time in everyone's life when they had to decide how they would face a problem – no matter how big, no matter how small – and since this was a big problem, Hermione Granger would face it as she had all the other big problems in her life: Head on.

**Dresses  
**  
Why was Hermione nervous? For one thing, this wasn't a date. For another thing, the person for whom she was to meet tonight was Draco Malfoy – her nemesis/foe/workmate – therefore it really wasn't a date, which was a good thing, because she hadn't been on a date in almost a year. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she was more than capable of defending herself against a real person, let alone a ghost, so she wasn't nervous about a ghost showing up tonight. Not that she believed he would anyway.

A ghost.

The ghost of Cedric Diggory.

She snorted as she checked her hair in the mirror over the fireplace in her office. The ghost of Cedric Diggory was supposedly going around stealing his mother's jewelry – oh – and his family's priceless heirlooms and pieces of art. She wondered something. Where did a ghost put such things? In a haunted house? She giggled at her own little joke.

Of course, Draco Malfoy walked into her office right at that moment. "While I agree that your looks are somewhat amusing, I'm not sure they're funny enough that one would laugh out loud at them."

She gave him her best glare.

He merely smiled at her in return, blasted man.

She sighed and replaced her glare with a look of apathy. "I wasn't laughing at my appearance. I thought I looked alright, actually." And she did. The dress Draco picked out was beautiful. It was a soft lilac colour, made of pure silk, crisscrossing over her breasts. High-waist, with little pleats in the skirt, it came to her knees, with a matching silk wrap.

"That dress will do, but I thought the dress I picked out for you would have looked better. Didn't you get it?" He plopped down in her desk chair and opened the top drawer of her desk, then began to look around her drawers.

"This isn't the dress you bought me?" she asked, confused, looking down at the beautiful, short dress.

"No," he said shortly, rummaging around another drawer even as he kept the first drawer open.

"What did the dress you buy for me look like?" she wondered, even as she continued to look at the dress she was wearing.

He continued to snoop in her belongings. "Red. Short. Low neckline. Garishly attractive."

She almost growled. "What are you looking for?"

"I don't know," he replied, opening yet a third drawer. "Nothing, really."

"Well stop it," she ordered, tapping her pointed shoe on the floor.

He closed those two drawers and opened yet another. "I'm just messing around," he said without looking up.

"Stop messing around in my drawers immediately, Malfoy!" she demanded, walking over toward the desk chair to stand directly in front of him.

He smiled, leaned back in her chair, and propped his feet upon her desk. "Usually women love for me to mess around in their drawers." He wiggled his eyebrows at the double entendre, leaned forward and closed all the open drawers.

She hit his feet off her desk and looked down at her dress once more. "Are you sure you didn't send this dress?"

"It's fetching, and makes your breasts seem large, which is a plus, but no, I didn't." Standing suddenly, he came before her, looked down at her feet and said, "Nice to see you in shoes. I do have something for you. It's not a priceless heirloom, like the bracelet, so the ghost won't steal it, but it might look good with your outfit. May I?" He produced a diamond and amethyst studded comb from the pocket of his jacket. Placing it in her upswept hair just so, he offered her his arm and then asked, "Are you ready?"

"I think we need to discover who sent me this dress, Malfoy," she ensued, biting her bottom lip with worry, her hand coming up to the comb.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her out the door. "Don't worry about it. It was probably someone who's seen your wardrobe before, and knows how dismal it is. Now are you coming or not?" As he took her arm in his, he looked at her wrist and cursed. "Granger, where's the bloody bracelet?"

"It's here, it's here." Slipping her arm from his, she put her hand in her small purse and pulled out the bracelet, then placed it on her left arm. Checking her purse for her wand and lipstick, she placed her hand back on Draco's sleeve.

They started out of the threshold, when suddenly Draco stopped. Turning to her, he said, "You really do look outstanding, Granger."

She was taken slightly aback by what she could tell was a genuine compliment from the man. A true smile found its way to her lips and she thanked him and nodded as they made their way up to the banquet, which was being held in a Muggle hotel, not far from the Ministry of Magic.

Though the hotel was well guarded by Aurors, and warded as well, Hermione could only hope that the thief, whoever he was, would strike tonight, and that they would catch him. Then all of this silliness of ghost and dead men would end. She was still thinking about Cedric as she and Draco entered the large banquet hall amongst a series of whispers and a low hum of gossip.

She wasn't aware of it, or that it concerned her. She wasn't aware that people were curious as to why she was there with Draco Malfoy. She wasn't aware that men were turning their heads to stare at her. She wasn't aware that women were slightly jealous. The only thing she was aware of was the beauty of the hall, and her assignment for the night.

The interior of the room shone like stain glass, with a multitude of colours bathing the interior of the banquet hall in a perfect display of beautiful splendor. There was a glorious feeling of this being a perfect place… a perfect day. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she felt like this.

Wait, yes she could. She felt this way the first time she went on a date with Cedric Diggory when she was only 15 years old.

Draco leaned over to her and said, "They're all staring."

"You're so egoistical," she laughed. "You always think everyone's looking at you."

Draco shook his head, incredulously, and said, "Dense as a doorknob, smart as a whip. They're looking at you, love. You're beautiful, and the fact that you're on my arm doesn't hurt."

She wanted to believe him, but it had been so long since she had felt beautiful. She hadn't even dated for almost a year. She looked back down at herself, then up at him and said, "Are you jesting?"

"As if I would jest," he said with cocky smile. "Shall I get us a refreshment? You just remain right there, glowing in the light of your own beauty."

She laughed outright and said, "You're so cocky. Go on with you, get me a drink." He bowed, brought her wrist (with the bracelet) up to his lips, kissed her fingers deftly, and then left her in the middle of the room.

She took a deep breath and then looked at the bracelet on her arm. It almost felt like a shackle, a leaden weight. Then she stared at the ring she placed on her fourth, left finger. She wore it as an afterthought, and now she regretted it. About to take it off, she glanced across the room and caught Harry's eye. He nodded an infinitesimal amount toward her, and she at him, and then she began to circulate around the room.

Saying hello to a few people, she didn't stop at any one place for any amount of time. Without being too obvious, she tried to make sure that the bracelet was noticeable. However, after circling the room twice, no one asked her about it, or seemed overly interested.

Draco brought her a drink, and then they danced.

It was a long, and frankly wonderful, night. But nothing happened. When the party was dying down and everyone was leaving, Hermione stood by an exit with Harry, Ron, and Draco and she said, "Well, you didn't really expect the ghost of Cedric to swoosh down during the party and steal the bracelet right in front of everyone, did you?"

"Of course not," Harry answered. "If it's going to occur, it's more than likely to happen on your walk back to the Ministry from the hotel or at your home tonight."

She frowned.

Ron chimed in, "It was grand that everyone got a good look at the bracelet. I made sure people knew it was a Diggory heirloom, too."

"Wait a moment," she began, "then why all the pretense? If you didn't think anything would happen during the party, why did I even have to come here tonight?"

"Shall I answer?" Draco drawled. He leaned toward her, smiled, and said, "Because, darling girl, just on the off chance that it's not a ghost, we want to give the illusion that you and I are having a ripe old time tonight. If the culprit is a good old man, instead of ghost, we wanted to give the chap a ghost of a chance, little play on words, to steal the thing the old fashion way."

Ron interjected, "And if the items are really being stolen by an entity, in this case, the ghost of Cedric Diggory, then it'll happen when you get home, or perhaps at the Ministry. A person couldn't breach the wards at either place, but a ghost could."

Hermione growled and then bit back the retort she almost replied and said instead, "I'm too pretty tonight to tell you all off for not giving me all the facts."

Harry smiled and said, "I think you're a bit pissed. How many drinks did you have?"

"I'm on duty," she gasped. "I don't drink on duty!"

Draco held up one hand with four fingers showing.

Hermione swatted his hand. "I did not have four drinks! Wait, were those alcoholic drinks you gave me? You said they were punch!"

"I lied," he quipped, leaning against the wall, while loosening his tie.

She swatted him again, just because she felt like it.

"Seriously, why didn't you tell me this?" she asked the men.

Ron said, "Because we know you always think on a purely logical level, and you would have pointed out that there's no way a ghost could have stolen anything, and so you wouldn't have even thought about the possibility that anything might have taken place that wasn't reasonable and believable, therefore we kept quiet, too."

"Also," Harry explained, "we sort of thought you would have figured all of this out by now."

"This stinks! I hate it when you all think of things that I don't! Furthermore, you should trust me more! If you come up with a plan, you should tell me it right away so I can tell you if its good or bad, you ruddy fools! I don't even want to help you now." She started to take the bracelet off to hand it to Harry, but the clasp was stuck. "And I was going to take this off and give it back to you, so the ghost could steal it from you, but I can't get it off. No matter! I'm leaving!"

She stormed out of the room, the bracelet still on her wrist.

Harry expelled a long breath and said, "She's right of course. No good has ever come from keeping things from Hermione Granger, but frankly, I seriously thought she would have figured it out on her own. What if she takes the bracelet off before the plan can work?"

"Don't fret, Scarboy," Draco smirked. "Our plan may still work. I slipped a jeweled comb from the Diggory's estate in her hair earlier tonight."

"Malfoy, that's, that's…" Ron looked for the right words.

"Brilliant?" Draco asked, taking a drink from a passing waiter and downing it in one drink.

"No, regrettable," Harry answered for him, "Because we have to tell her! You're a fool!"

"No you are!" Draco fired back, pointing at Harry. "You said it earlier! No one's more capable than she is! She'll be fine! If she goes back to her house or the Ministry, there are wards up, so a wizard won't get it, so she'll be safe. If it's a wizard, he has to strike her from here to there, and believe me, it was a WIZARD not a GHOST that stole from me! And the Aurors are already following her! Have some faith in her! I do! Now if you don't mind, I'd like to follow her myself!"

Draco started to walk away, when a young Auror named Timmons ran up to Harry and said, "We lost her, Mr. Potter. We lost her. I don't even know how it happened, but Miss Granger had just left this building to walk back to the Ministry, and she was there one moment, and the next minute, poof, she was gone! And we found this on the ground of an alley!"

In the young man's hand was the hair comb.

Harry took the comb from the man's outstretched hand, held it aloft, and then looked at Ron, then at Draco. "Gone... just like a ghost," he mumbled, clutching the comb in his hand as they all ran out of the hotel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

**Musings **

This was a complication. SHE was a complication that he never thought he would have to deal with in a million years. He didn't expect ever to see her again – then again, she probably never expected to see him again either.

He was tracking his grandmother's antique hair comb with a simple locator spell, and when he finally came upon the comb, he came upon the wearer of the comb and froze in shock. It wasn't as if he didn't realize that she and the Aurors were searching for him. He realized that fact. Nevertheless, he assumed she would be wearing his mother's bracelet.

He found out that she would be wearing the bracelet tonight… so he purposely went after a different heirloom. Imagine his surprise when he found his grandmother's hair comb in the hair of Hermione Granger. Moreover, she looked so beautiful tonight. She even wore the dress that he'd sent over to her office. He was equally shocked by that, since he didn't send a note with the dress. What would the note have said? "_Here's a dress for you to wear tonight in your attempt to catch me"?_

Damn his father to hell for selling all of their personal possessions anyway. If he hadn't squandered the fortune that his grandparents had left him, he never would have had to sell all of Cedric's inheritance. Not that his father realized Cedric would ever inherit anything, since he was dead. Now he was back – back from the dead, back for good – and he was forced to retrieve everything, including his grandmother's hair comb… even including the woman wearing the hair comb.

Bloody hell, he never thought he'd see her again. Never. As soon as he saw her, he yanked the comb out of her hair, told her how sorry he was and then Stupefied her. She dropped the bracelet, so he picked it and her up in his arms and then Disapparated them both to the cottage where he'd been living for the last six months. Looking down at her now, he noticed that she was beginning to stir. He turned away and walked out the door, unable and unwilling to face her just yet.

**Headache  
**  
Hermione woke up and looked around. She wasn't sure if she was awake at first, or merely dreaming. Finally, she deduced that she was awake, due to the large knot on the back of her head and the inevitable pain that accompanied it.

Opening her eyes wide as she sat up, she further realized she was in a bed in an unfamiliar place, a small house of some sort with a single room with the bare necessities. By the lack of light inside of the dwelling – and judging from the small window above the bed, the outside – she assumed it was still dark. The only light afforded to the room was the faint glow of the fire in the small, stoned fireplace.

Gathering her wits, she sat up and moved her feet around so her legs dangled off the bed. She was still in the dress she had worn to the banquet. That was most unfortunate, as a nauseated feeling took hold of her. Hoping to spare the dress, she leaned her head down into her hands until the queasiness passed. Taking a deep breath in, exhaling it out her nose, she wondered if the uneasiness she felt was due to the fact that she had a concussion, or was it due to the odd fact that she was kidnapped outside the banquet hall by a dead man?

She recalled everything that happened to her with blinding clarity. Earlier that evening, Hermione rushed out of the ballroom, welcoming the feel of the cool, night air on her skin, knowing she was going to have to examine her former feelings for the 'ghost' that they were presumably pursing. Likewise, it was good to be away from Harry, Draco, and everyone else. It was good to have some time to herself. Cursing Harry and the entire Ministry, and most of all, Draco Malfoy, she had just rounded a corner to walk down an alley so she could Apparate home when she stopped suddenly. Feeling slightly alarmed, perhaps even afraid, she started to remove the antique bracelet off her wrist, when the very man… ghost… whatever… they were pursing appeared before her.

Cedric Diggory, in all his 'dead glory' was standing right in front of her. He said, "You have something that belongs to me." He stepped closer, one hand reaching up to her hair as the other hand cupped her cheek gently. Then in a clear, true voice he said, "I'm so sorry, Hermione, but you'll have to come with me."

Gasping, she dropped the bracelet and reached for her wand, but the ghost was quicker. He stunned her, or something, and she must have hit her head on the ground when she fell. She didn't remember anything else. The next thing she knew, she was waking up here, all alone apparently. Lifting her hand to her sore head, she discovered that the hair comb Malfoy had given her was missing. She also discovered the large 'knot' on her head, hence her headache.

Standing on wobbly legs, she walked around the room where she was being held and looked over at a large wooden door she assumed led outside. She went to the door, wondering where her wand and shoes were (she was always losing her shoes). The door was locked tight, with magic, because it wouldn't budge one bit as she tried to open it.

She crossed over to the windows to the left of the door. The shutters on the windows were closed tight. Only a bit of light came in the slats, but that small sliver of light helped her to realize that it was daylight after all. How long had she been here? Was anyone searching for her? Where was the ghost? She tried to pry the shutters open, but just as with the door, they were closed tight with magic.

Sighing, she trekked back over to the bed, spying a small, red covered book on the table beside it. Picking it up, she climbed up on the bed so she could try to break the small window above her with the book, when she stopped to examine the title.

It was a book of Edgar Allan Poe's poems. Swallowing hard, she plopped back down on the bed and opened the inside cover. With unsteady hands, she lifted the front page, to look at the title page of the book. There, she saw an inscription, but she didn't have to read it because she already knew what it said. She knew because this book once belonged to her, and she had given it to Cedric Diggory the year of the Tri-Wizard tournament.

She trembled as she closed the book and her eyes, remembering the day she had given it to him as it was yesterday.

**_Memories_**

_A steady rain had been falling for a week now, signally the end of autumn. All of the students were seeking shelter that weekend indoors, most of them in their common rooms, others in the great hall, a few in the library. The air in the castle was cool and damp. Hermione was feeling restless as she left the crowded Gryffindor common room. She began to roam the hallways, looking for solitude with a book of Edgar Allan Poe's poetry in her hand._

_All she needed was a concealed alcove, a private set of windows, a quiet outlet, so she could be alone. Such things were hard to find on days like this, when all the students were doing the very same thing._

_Finding nowhere to hide inside the castle, she rushed to the front doors, drew her cloak over her head, and headed outside to the only place she could think would be secluded and empty on a day like this… the Quidditch stands. No one of sane mind would go outside during the heavy deluge, nor would they seek shelter in an outdoor arena. Running through the courtyard, down the hill past Hagrid's hut, around the Black Lake, before the Forbidden Forest, she saw the large Quidditch stands. Looking up, she saw house flags flapping back and forth in the wind and rain, along with the canvases covering the wooden boxes with seats and the wooden staircases leading up to them. She pushed her way through a canvas with colours red and gold that covered one of the large observation stands and started climbing the rickety stairs that would take her to the top._

_Once at the top of the wooden staircase, she sat down on the timber steps, pulled her cloak tighter around her, and opened the book as it sat on her lap._

_Suddenly, she heard a noise. Someone (or more than one) was up in the wooden stands above her. She heard footsteps, and possibly a man, talking. She closed her book quietly as she could, stood back up, and leaned forward to listen. Feeling adventurous and overwhelmed with curiosity, she stood at the mouth of the stairwell; she knew she had the perfect hiding place in which to eavesdrop. Here, it was dark, secluded, and the sound of the rain and wind muffled any sounds she might make._

_She slipped her hand underneath a small corner piece of the canvas that was covering one side of the stairs to spy on the people who were making the noises above her._

_She saw two sets of feet, one male and one female. They were standing face to face. The figures were in shadows, and it was hard to see them, but she sensed that they were kissing. She put her book down next to her foot on the top step, and used both hands to hold the canvas in place to get a better look._

_Out of nowhere, a hand clamped on her mouth, pulling her away from the canvas and down several stairs. Her book toppled from its perch and went through the hole between stairs, banging on the wooden steps as it made its way down to the bottom._

_At the unexpected noise on the stairs, the man with heavily accented English, said from the other side of the canvas, "Who's there?"_

_The hand on her mouth became tighter, another arm going around her shoulders to pull her back to the other side of the steps, just as the male voice called out again, "Answer me! Who's out there?"_

_The person holding Hermione moved them both quickly, picking her up bodily and slipping behind another piece of canvas on the far side of the landing. Wind and rain hit her side and face, as she and her captor were now exposed to the elements. She moved her eyes to gaze below them, and when she saw how high they were, she closed her eyes tightly, even as the man holding her whispered in her ear, "Be still. Be quiet. Don't move a muscle."_

_He kept his arms tightly around her as the people from the stands moved to the top of the staircase. She could see their shadows on the inside of the canvas, even as the wind and rain continued to beat down upon her and the person holding her back flush against him._

_The man holding her (for it was a man, she could tell) slipped his first hand off her mouth, and placed it on her neck, even as his other hand loosened its grip on her middle, going slack, but constant._

_Then the people on the other side spoke muffled words, right before she heard footsteps retreating down the stairs. Shaking from the cold and trepidation of the unknown, she moved her head slightly so that it rested on the shoulder of the man behind her. She looked up into warm gray eyes. She looked up into the face of Cedric Diggory._

_"I think they're gone," she said in hushed tones._

_He nodded and pulled her back through the flap in the canvas. As she looked over the railing for her book, he jogged down several stairs quietly, leaned over, and then looked back up at her. "It would appear so," he returned. "Why are you here? Why are you spying on them?"_

_"I don't even know who 'them' are," she spat, uncertain if that was proper grammar, and not caring one bit. "Why are you here? Why were you spying on them?"_

_He looked at her shrewdly before he answered. "That was one of the Durmstrang chaps."_

_Hermione placed her hands on her hips and said, "Continue."_

_Cedric smiled, pushing his dark blond hair out of his eyes. "You're Harry Potter's little friend, aren't you? The smart one."_

_"Little friend?" She glared at him, and then pushed past him to walk through the canvas archway to the rows of seats on the high Quidditch stands. He followed her, walked by her, as she stood rooted to the spot near the entrance, and then turned to say, "Yes, I stand by my assessment. Little friend."_

_She shook the rain out of her eyes, pushing her hair back as she did. "Well, I could say of you… 'Aren't you the tall, know it all Hufflepuff who's competing with Harry Potter in the Tri-Wizard tournament', but since I already know who you are, that would be rather stupid of me, so I shalln't say anything of the sort."_

_He smiled and sat down on one of the lower bleachers, his long legs out in front of him. "What were you doing out there, little friend?"_

_Looking embarrassed and miffed at the same time, she said, "I was merely trying to find a quiet place to read my book, but then I heard voices."_

_"And you decided to spy on the people you heard?" he added._

_"No!" she insisted. Then she stopped for a moment and said, "Well, perhaps, but I don't like the word 'spy'."_

_"Eavesdrop?" he suggested._

_She cocked her head to the side and gave him an exasperated look. He laughed again and said, "Fine, fine, you weren't spying or eavesdropping. But if you were really reading, then where's your book."_

_She sucked in a breath and said, "My book! Oh my stars, it fell through the stairs. I have to go find it. It was a gift to me from my grandfather!" She ran back through the portal and started down the stairs._

_He was right behind her. "I think I see it," he claimed, overtaking her on the last set of stairs. He pointed up, as the book was on a cross beam over head. "Is that it?"_

_"Yes, yes it is," she rushed. "I don't have my wand." She looked around for obvious help. "I'll have to get it somehow. May I use your wand?"_

_"No," he answered. "I'd gladly let you, but I left my wand in my room in Hufflepuff dungeons."_

_"How will I get my book?" She looked up at it and frowned._

_He stepped closer to her, placed a hand upon her shoulder and said, "It's not very far. You could climb up the railing and reach it."_

_"Climb?" She looked at him in shock. "No… I… no." She looked around the stairs and concluded, "Perhaps if I climb back up the next set of steps, I could lean down and reach it through the stairs."_

_"I'll get it," he offered, dismissing her plan outright. He jumped, placed both hands on a beam over their heads, his feet on the railing near where they stood, and moved to the left. Then he reached up, higher, higher, until his hand touched the spine of the book. He knocked it off, and then jumped back down. He and the book both landed right by Hermione's feet._

_She bent down and brushed the book's cover off with her hand. "Thank you, Cedric."_

_When she looked up at him, he was smiling. "You're welcome, Harry Potter's little friend." He pulled on a piece of her hair, continued to smile, and then he ran down the stairs._

_"Wait!" she called out. He stopped and looked back up at her._

_"You never told me what YOU were doing here," she said._

_With the same smile on his face he said, "I was eavesdropping." Then he laughed and ran away from her. She watched him until he disappeared. Then she walked back up the wooden steps to the top, sat down, and read her book._

_**Meetings  
**  
Over the next few days, Hermione started to watch Cedric Diggory any time she could. He was always at the center of attention at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall. He always had a crowd of students from every house around him wherever he went. Girls, especially, seemed to follow him around._

_It made her feel slightly jealous, and she didn't know why. Around the same time, Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang challenger in the Tri-Wizard tournament began to pay attention to Hermione. He would stare at her in the Great Hall. He would sit near her in the library. If she went outside to study, he was always close by. Just like Cedric, Viktor usually had a crowd of students around him, both female and male, because he was an international Quidditch star._

_Hermione didn't know what to make of it all. The night before all Hallow's Eve, Viktor approached her as she sat by herself under a tree near the Black Lake. Bowing before her, he said, in broken English, "Is good book you read?"_

_"What?" she asked, having heard him, but shocked that he was speaking to her._

_"Your book. You take it everywhere. Is good?" He nodded his head in the direction of the book in her hands._

_"Oh yes, it's very good. It's a book of poems by Edgar Allan Poe. Have you ever heard of him?"_

_He shook his head no, and then sat down beside her. "Is he good poem writer?"_

_Hermione smiled. "He was a very good poet, yes, I think so. He wrote somewhat dark and depressing poems, full of foreboding and scary things. I love to read him this time of year, you know, because of All Hallow's Eve."_

_He nodded, but looked confused._

_She asked, "Do you celebrate All Hallow's Eve, or Halloween, in Bulgaria?"_

_"Not really, no." He reached over and took the book right from Hermione's hands, his long fingers brushing against hers. "You say he writes scary stories… or poems?"_

_"Yes," she said. She leaned closer to him and opened the book to a place where the page was turned down. "I like this one. It's called 'The Raven'. You may borrow my book if you'd like."_

_"That would be good, yes, good." He smiled at her, closed the book and then stood. "Thank you. My name is Viktor."_

_"Yes, I know. You're competing against my friend Harry in the tournament. I watched you during the Dragon competition. You did very well."_

_He smiled down at her. "You are just Harry Potter's friend? Not girlfriend?"_

_"What?" She laughed. "Oh no, no, no. We're just friends, good friends, but just friends."_

_"That's good," he said. "Well, I shall read this story, 'The Raven', and then I will bring you back your book, yes?"_

_She nodded. "That would be nice."_

_He bowed slightly and walked away._

_Somewhere above Hermione, high up in the tree, a voice said, "At least he didn't ask you if you were Harry Potter's little friend. He just said friend. If he had said, 'little friend', you wouldn't have been so inclined to loan him your book, would you?"_

_Hermione looked overhead toward the disembodied voice. "Who's up there?"_

_In a rustling of leaves and limbs, a long pair of legs appeared. Cedric Diggory jumped from the tree, landing right next to Hermione._

_"What are you doing up there?" she asked, shocked._

_He sat beside her and said, "Eavesdropping again. How about you?"_

_"Don't be rude," she spat. "Why were you eavesdropping?"_

_He tucked his chin to his chest to hide his smile. "I wasn't really. I often climb up things, high things, to be alone and think. I was already up here when you sat down." She looked at him dubiously, but he moved his finger across his chest, making the sign of an 'X' and said, "Cross my heart and hope to die, I was. That's what I was doing up in the Quidditch stand the other day. I was just up there to be alone, have some time to think, when I saw you climb up. When that Durmstrang chap and his girlfriend heard you, I decided to hide us both."_

_Hermione looked down at the ground. "I thought you liked all the attention and the crowds."_

_He shrugged. "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. Even popular blokes like me like to be alone sometimes. Surely you can relate to that."_

_"I'm not popular," she began, "but I do like to be alone. It's hard sometimes."_

_He smiled at her again and reached for her face. Drawing a long finger down her cheek, he said, "Well, now that you've got Viktor Krum after you, you won't' be able to claim you're not popular again. You'll be unpopular 'nevermore, nevermore'."_

_Heat tingled in her chest at the feel of his finger on her face. A smile bloomed on her lips when he quoted a line from the poem she suggested that Viktor should read. "Do you know 'The Raven'?"_

_"Not personally," he said with a wink._

_She continued to smile, and said, "My favourite Edgar Allan Poe story is the one about the beating heart under the floorboards. Do you know it?"_

_"No, can't say that I do," he said with another smile. He leaned his back against the tree trunk and said, "Tell it to me."_

_And she did._

**Present**

Cedric paced back and forth in front of the little cottage, trying to gain the courage to face Hermione Granger again. As he paced outside, he thought of all the times they had met in private the year of the Tri-Wizard tournament. Their friendship started tentatively, and then grew to something a bit more…

**_Memories_**

_Cedric wanted to invite Hermione to the Yule ball that year, even though he was dating Cho Chang. Still, the day he was going to ask her, she blurted out that Viktor Krum had just asked her to go. Feeling jealous, but also resigned, he grinned and began to tease her. She took the teasing with grace, turning it around so that she began to tease him, too._

_That was when he got an idea. He couldn't take her to the Yule ball, but he could ask her out on a date. Why not? He liked her and besides, he wanted to give her an early Christmas present. He had a ring that belonged to his great aunt, and he wanted to give it to her, so he would do that tonight._

_"Hey, Hermione, why don't we meet at our favourite little eavesdropping spot, the Quidditch stands, after dinner tonight? We could even call it a date, if you'd like." He waited, expectantly, for her answer._

_She smiled, nodded and said, "I'll see you tonight."_

_That night, they met at the top of the wooden stairs outside the Ravenclaw stands of the Quidditch pitch, talked about the upcoming dance and other things, when suddenly he took her hand in his. He wanted to give her the ring. He had to act as if it meant nothing, although of course, it meant something indeed._

_"Where are your gloves?" he asked, her hands still in his. "Your hands must be cold."_

_"I'm alright," she said, although she was actually slightly shocked at the feel of his hands holding hers. She shivered again._

_He dropped one of her hands so that he could reach into the pocket of his long coat. "Oh, by the way, I brought you an early Christmas present. Since you don't have gloves on, perhaps it will warm your hands."_

_She looked shocked as he took a small package, wrapped in gold paper and ribbon, out of his pocket and presented it to her. "It's nothing really, just a token of my affection."_

_She unwrapped it with shaking fingers and gasped when she saw the pretty, antique ring in the pillow of black velvet. She took it from its box and held it up to the silver light of the moon. "It's so pretty, but you can't give me something so expensive."_

_He smiled, took it from her hand and placed it upon the fourth finger of her right hand. "It wasn't expensive. It belonged to my great aunt, so I didn't spend a single galleon on it. Do you like it?"_

_She shivered again._

_"Goodness, you're cold. I shouldn't have kept you out here this long." Cedric tugged off his coat and placed it around her shoulders. "We wouldn't want you to have a red nose before the ball, would we?"_

_"I don't think so, no," she agreed, pulling his coat tighter around her. She placed her nose on the warm wool. It smelled like him. She liked it._

_"Did you ever get your book back from Viktor," he asked, pulling on her hand so they were leaning against the railing of the box. He actually just wanted to hold her hand again, so he didn't drop it when they reached the railing. He kept it tightly in his grasp._

_"Yes, he gave it back to me last week," she declared. "Do you still want to borrow it?"_

_"I do," he answered, adding her name, "Hermione."_

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

_The sound of her name on his lips thrilled her more than it should have. She knew it was silly, and that he was eighteen and she was only fifteen, but whenever she was near him her insides would melt, her heart would skip a beat, and she would feel all tingling and numb. "I feel tingling and numb," she said suddenly, her eyes growing wide at her sudden declaration._

_"Must be the cold," he suggested, his deep gray stare looking at her shrewdly. He placed his hands on her shoulders and said, "I shouldn't keep you out here any longer. You should go inside."_

_Hermione wondered something. Did Cedric think she was a silly little girl? Did he think she was pretty? He called this a date earlier, so he must like her, right? He gave her a present, a ring. Did that mean something to him? Did he like her as much as she liked him? Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him._

_He stared right back at her and asked, "What's on your mind?"_

_His smile faded, and she stood quietly, not answering his question. How could she tell him the things that were in her heart and on her mind? How could she tell him that she craved his warm embrace, his sweet smile, and that she often thought of what it would feel like to kiss him?_

_How could she tell him that she had fallen in love with him over the last two months, and that it was real, and not just a schoolgirl crush?_

_Suddenly feeling shy, she reached up and touched his brow, the fringe of his bangs lightly falling against her fingertips. His eyes darkened and he reached for a long lock of her hair at the same time, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger._

_"You're very pretty, Hermione." He said it so seriously. She liked that. She knew she was smart, but she didn't think she was pretty, however if this boy, man, said it, she wondered if it could be true. Leaning closer to her, he said, "You have no clue what you do to me, do you?"_

_"What do I do to you?" she asked in hushed tones._

_"You make me want to do this," he answered, pulling her closer, his hands on her waist. Tilting her head back to look up at his face, he leaned closer, his lips hovering above her own. Bringing one of his hands up to frame her face, the other hand went to her back under his coat, and then his lips fell down lightly upon hers._

_She felt as if she might levitate off the ground from the pressure of his mouth upon hers. His lips felt so soft and warm as they moved against hers. The warmth of his kiss moved to her limbs and chest, making her feel heavy, wanted, needed._

_Suddenly, he lifted his head and said, "I can't do this. You're too young for me. I have a girlfriend. I'm so sorry, Hermione." And he looked sorry, too. He brushed his knuckles down her face and then grabbed her hand._

_She pulled her hand from his, dropped his coat off her shoulders and said, "I wasn't too young for you to ask out on a date. I wasn't too young for you to kiss me just now, and I'm not too young for Viktor!" She frowned and then pulled something out of her pocket and placed it in his hands. "Happy Christmas. I still want to give this to you, even if I'm nothing more than Harry Potter's little friend to you." She ran away from him, down the stairs._

_He looked at the package in his hands. Wrapped with ribbons and bows was her copy of Edgar Allan Poe poetry. He clutched it to his heart and sighed._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Pulse**

With his heart in his throat, Cedric Diggory approached the bed where earlier he'd placed Hermione Granger. Gritting his teeth in anger and frustration – at the fact that she was here and at the fact that he wanted her here – he reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder.

Her eyes were closed, her mouth relaxed. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Stroking her cheek, he revised that thought – she was more beautiful than she was as a girl. Letting his fingertips drift down to her neck, he felt the need to make sure she had a pulse.

She moaned and moved her head.

His hand went from her shoulder to cup her cheek. Good. She not only had a pulse, but was also breathing steadily. Perhaps she was merely asleep; although when he'd first brought her here last night, she was certainly unconscious. He had been so careful. How could this have happened? Moving his long fingers down her cheek, he stroked her hair, and then felt her head. A large lump was under his hand. It was swollen and he felt matted blood on his fingertips. Never in a million years did he want to hurt her. A dozen or so thoughts raced through his head as he continued to stare down at her… was she hurt… what would she say to him… how would he explain his existence?

He couldn't answer that last question even if she asked it. He had no idea how he'd come back from beyond.

All he knew was that several years ago he awoke in an open field near Hogwarts. Stumbling around in the dense fog of early morning, he noticed that the school was in shambles. Rocks and rubble were the main things he saw, well, that and people, many, many people, walking about as if they were in shock.

**Awake  
**  
_Feeling as if he had just awoken from a deep sleep, Cedric Diggory stepped up to a witch he'd never seen before and asked, "What happened here?" The person looked right through him, as if he didn't exist. He approached another person, and then another, asking the same thing and getting the same response, which was nothing._

_Finally, he spied a familiar face. He saw Oliver Wood in the distance. The man was standing in the courtyard, stones and dirt littering the ground near his feet, dead people everywhere._

_Sighing in relief, he ran toward the man and said, "Wood! What's happening here?" The man turned toward Cedric and frowned. That was when Cedric realized that the other man was older than the last time he'd seen him._

_Continuing to frown, Oliver reached out a hand, only to draw it back quickly. Shaking his head, he turned back toward the main doors, staring at nothing._

_Cedric rounded toward him and said, "Oliver! Don't you hear me? Can't you see me?"_

_Oliver frowned again and asked, "Who's there?" Shaking his head he mumbled to himself, "I must be going mad."_

_The next thing Cedric knew another man approached Oliver and said, "Who are you talking to?"_

_Blinking, Oliver said, "No one. I thought I heard someone say my name, but there's no one there."_

_The other man looked at all the broken, dead bodies around them and said, "Yeah… no one but perhaps ghosts."_

_That was when Cedric knew. He knew what he was. He just didn't know the why._

_He continued walking around the school, gathering information from bits and pieces of conversations. He heard that Lord Voldemort was dead. He also concluded that Harry Potter, along with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, were responsible for the evil wizard's death._

_Gilding down a hallway he finally came upon the person he most wanted to see. Her. Hermione Granger. She too was older. She looked weary and tired. He wanted to go to her, ease her pain, but he knew he couldn't, so he merely stood there watching her._

_Then he felt a hand land upon his shoulder. He turned, shocked that someone was able to see him, touch him. It was their headmaster, Dumbledore._

_"What's happening, sir?" Cedric asked._

_"Do you mean here at the school or with you?" the wise old man asked in return._

_Cedric looked back toward Hermione, then to Dumbledore. "I think I know what happened here. Voldemort was defeated, wasn't he?" When the older man nodded in assent, Cedric said, "And I died because of him, didn't I? Years ago, if I had a guess."_

_Again, Dumbledore nodded._

_Cedric said, "What I'm wondering is this, Sir. Why am I back? How am I back? And why are you the only one who's able to see me?."_

_Dumbledore removed his hand from Cedric's shoulder and said, "You were never meant to die. You were taken before your time. I believe that you've come back because Harry has defeated Tom Riddle. And I'm the only one who can see you because I too died, although I lived a long, long life."_

_"But am I a ghost?"_

_Dumbledore smiled. "Who knows?" He moved the hand that was previously on Cedric's shoulder up to his chest, placing it over his heart and said, "I believe you're whatever you want to be. I believe you've been given a second chance. You can go on to whatever eternity awaits us, you can remain as you are, without corporal body, but with all thoughts and intelligence intact, or…" and the man stopped._

_"Or what?" Cedric asked desperately._

_"Or you could come back. There's a chance, a small chance, one might even say a ghost of chance that you could have a second chance at the life that was taken from you before its time. It's all up to you."_

_For many years, Cedric didn't know what Dumbledore meant. He wandered around London, his old home, and the school, in a state of confusion, nothing more than midst, no one knowing he existed, no one caring._

_Then one day he was roaming the halls of Hogwarts, a few years after he first appeared, and he saw a familiar face in the crowd. It was Hermione, his first real love. She was walking along with Cedric's father of all people. He followed them. They were speaking about him._

_"I think this will be a lovely tribute to Cedric," Hermione said to the elder Mr. Diggory._

_The man smiled and answered, "I only wish his mother had lived to see it. She died not very long ago, you know."_

_"Yes, I know, Sir," Hermione replied._

_Cedric was shocked by that news. "My mother's dead?" Even saying the words aloud didn't help dull the pain, nor did anyone reply since they couldn't hear him. Then, his father said, "Did I tell you that I don't have much longer either?"_

_Hermione stopped and gasped. Cedric stopped and gasped as well._

_"I'm so sorry, Mr. Diggory, I had no idea," Hermione said. "Then I'm glad we're doing this for him, and for you."_

_"I only wish I could leave a better legacy for him, but the money's almost all gone. All gone. I spent years and years, and most of my money, trying hard to bring my son back, somehow. I was convinced I could do it, but it didn't work. It never worked." The man hung his head. "Now, I'll die, and they'll be nothing left."_

_Hermione smiled sadly and placed her hand on the man's arm. "But we'll have this," she said, turning him slightly._

_Cedric stopped with them and looked to where they were looking. They had stopped by the dungeons near the Hogwarts kitchens… Hufflepuff Dormitory. Just outside the old, wooden doors was a plaque on the wall with an etched likeness of Cedric. Below the likeness was his name, date of birth, date of death, and accomplishments at school._

_The entire thing made Cedric angry. Dumbledore had been right after the final battle. Cedric had died too young, his life wasted, and now there was nothing to say he had ever been on the face of the earth except for a stupid bronze plaque bearing his name and likeness._

_Even if he weren't a ghost, even if he were alive, what would he have to live for anyway? His mother gone, his father dying, no home to go to, no fortune or possessions. Even Hermione Granger had apparently moved on. The very thought made Cedric so angry that he reached up and tore the plaque right off the wall, in front of his father and Hermione._

_Hermione screamed, his father stumbled back in shock, and Cedric ran out of the dungeons, up the stairs and out of the doors. By the time he reached the Forbidden Forest he felt differently. Standing next to a tree, he hung his head and started to cry. Suddenly, he felt someone tugging at his sleeve. In shock, he turned to face the person._

_"Why are you crying, Mister?" a small child in Gryffindor colours asked him._

_"Can you see me?" he asked._

_"Of course I can see you," the little girl said. "You're standing in front of me."_

_That was when he knew, somehow, whether it was a reprieve from a higher power, or his righteous anger, but somehow he was back. No longer a ghost, but also no longer the boy everyone remembered._

**Present**

That was when he knew he could never go back to the way things were before, because he couldn't explain his existence to anyone if he didn't understand it himself. He returned to London and began to right the wrongs committed by his father. He starting to recoup everything that his father had ever sold or lost. Everything that was once his would be his again, even if he couldn't have the main thing he wanted…

Her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Awake**

Hermione had a sense that someone was here with her. A prickling sensation, like a million straight pins, rushed along her skin. Her head hurt, but she moved it toward a presence in the room. Memories of the night before, and her early morning awakening, rushed back to her…

She was Stupefied last night. She hit her head. Before she collapsed, she dropped the bracelet. And even before that, someone reached up for the hair comb, then grabbed her before she could hit the ground. They brought her here, to this little cottage.

Without opening her eyes, she felt the ring that Cedric had given her so long ago upon her finger. Then, she realized someone was watching her. The hairs on her arms stood at attention even as the person watching her leaned down and cupped her cheek.

It was Cedric Diggory, back from the dead, or a ghost. Both scenarios sent her into a panic. Her mind was only able to register one thing at a time, because her head hurt something fierce. It hurt so badly that she had to lie back down after she first arose this morning.

However, even through the faint pain pressing upon her eyelids she knew Cedric Diggory was watching her. She felt him sitting beside her on the bed like a dark, unfathomable entity.

Opening her eyes, she saw him for the first time in years. He looked much the same, perhaps a bit older. Her lips parted as she tried to speak, but nothing came out of her mouth apart from a whispered moan.

He brushed his fingertips down her arm and said, "Don't try to talk. I'm afraid you hit your head. I didn't mean for that to happen."

Feeling cold and disoriented, she mumbled, "Who are you." Even though she knew.

"Have you really forgotten me, Hermione?"

With her eyes squeezed shut again, she turned away from him, her head throbbing as she did, and said, "Cedric Diggory is dead."

"Yes," he agreed. "Cedric Diggory _was_ dead." He emphasized the word 'was'.

Moaning again she said, "I don't believe you're a ghost."

"Good, because I'm not certain I believe it any longer, at least, I don't think I do. I haven't really examined what I am too closely."

She moaned again and felt a heavy darkness come over her, then she heard him say dimly, "That's right. Go back to sleep. When you awake, you'll feel better."

The next time Hermione awoke the cottage was bright with daylight. The shutters were removed from the windows, and the door was even open to let in a cool breeze. Turning her head around, she saw Cedric by a small table. Staring at him closely, she remembered how she always thought he was as close to perfection as any man she'd ever know. Lean, tall, fit and handsome.

As if he could sense her stare, he turned back to look at her and their eyes locked. Hermione remain perfectly still, as did he. "Are you finally part of the living?" he asked with a perfect smile upon his face.

Sitting up with a wince, she said, "The question is, are you?"

He laughed. "That would be the question of the day, wouldn't it?" He brought over a tray with tea and toast. "I thought you might be hungry."

As soon as he placed it on the bed beside her, she lifted her hand and pushed it away, sending the ceramic teapot crashing to the floor.

Picking up the tray, he said, "Or perhaps not."

Looking at him sharply she said, "Do you want to tell me what I'm doing here?" She moved her feet around so they dangled off the side of the bed. Before trying to stand, she had to gain her bearings. "Better yet, do you want to tell me what you're doing here?"

He looked at her, blinked his eyes, and then answered. "I really don't know. I'm not sure I understand it myself. The last thing I remembered before I came back was being in an ancient graveyard with Harry Potter. Voldemort was there, as were some others. He – Voldemort – ordered this man to kill me, and I died, although I was still aware of things. I asked Harry Potter to take my body back with him, and he did."

Frowning, Cedric sat in a chair by the small table. "After that, the first thing I recall was that I was walking among the ruins and rubble of Hogwarts. From bits and pieces of conversation of others, I surmised that Harry Potter had finally defeated Voldemort. I came upon a few people, tried to ask them what was happening, but no one could see me."

Hermione glanced sharply to her hands, which were twisted in the bedspread. "Because you were a ghost?" She looked back up at him, lips parted, wanted to ask more, but also wanting him to answer.

"Yes, I think so. I might still be a ghost, I really don't know. I came in contact with Dumbledore and he explained to me that I might have been brought back for a second chance, because I was taken before my time. I didn't believe it at first, and I drifted around in a sort of haze for a few years."

Averting her gaze, Hermione said, "You've couldn't have talked to Dumbledore. That can't be possible. Dumbledore's dead."

Soon, Cedric said, "I know. He told me that." When Hermione looked back up, he was once again sitting beside her on the bed. "I'm also aware of the fact that my father sold all of our belongings in an attempt to bring me back from the dead. Maybe that's why I was brought back, really back, or perhaps it was something else."

He clutched her shoulders under firm hands and as his hold tightened, so did the constriction in her chest. A tingling rose up in her belly, and she anchored all her feelings onto the man that sat unyielding, firm, and solid, beside her. This… no, he, couldn't be a ghost. He was real. Everything he had just told her was real. Acutely aware of his body so close to hers, she began to breath heavy, strenuously.

"Why did you have my grandmother's hair comb?" he asked.

"To catch you, I assume." She tried to wrench her shoulders from his hands, but he held tighter. "I didn't know it was one of your family's heirlooms. Malfoy tricked me, apparently, a fact in which he'll pay dearly."

"Are you with Malfoy now?" he asked suddenly.

Hermione felt her back stiffen at the very thought. "No!" She observed, "Even if I were, it wouldn't be a concern of yours. Why are you going around stealing things? Why not present yourself to the Ministry so we could try to solve this mystery?" What she really wanted to ask was, _"Why didn't you come find me the moment you came back?", _but she had too much pride to subject herself to that inquiry, or to his response.

Something flickered across his face. Perhaps it was regret. In any case, he moved from the bed and said, "That wasn't possible. It still isn't. I don't want to be known as the man whom Voldemort killed. I don't want to be examined and written about. I merely want a quiet life. As to why I've taken those things from those people, well, it's simple. They belong to me."

Hermione swallowed hard. "So you came back merely to recoup material things? How nice for you. I'm so glad THINGS are more important to you than people are. I think I'll be leaving now." She stood from the bed and started past him, aware she was without either shoes or wand.

Without hesitation, he stepped around her, reached for her, grabbing her from behind. He picked her right off the ground, her feet dangling, and her first instinct was to fight.

She pulled back her elbow and hit his ribs as hard as she could. Kicking his shins, she tried to turn her head to bite him when he practically threw her on the bed. The next thing she knew she felt a hard weight upon her. His hands grabbed her wrists and pinned them on each side of her head.

Cool grey eyes bore into hers. "Stop it, Hermione," he said harshly. "I don't want to hurt you, but I can't have you leaving and then telling everyone where I am, or even that I'm back."

She felt like slapping his face, but due to that fact that he had her wrists held tightly in his fingers, she couldn't. "They already know you're back, you buffoon! The Ministry, the Aurors, and even my department, The Department of Mysteries, everyone is looking for you. You haven't exactly been discreet."

"But they think they're searching for a ghost," he said slowly, almost as if he was afraid it was true. "I overheard two Aurors speaking of it one day in a pub."

Sighing loudly, she said, "Cedric, you have to let me go. I'm sure if your claims prove true, although I don't understand how it is that you're back, but if they prove true, you surely won't be punished for stealing. All of that will be soon forgotten…"

He cut her off by saying, "Yes, it will be forgotten, because I'll be a spectacle. I'll be put on display, set up for public exhibition. I don't want that. I want to be left alone."

"You have a funny way of showing it, by stealing things people bought from your father, showing your face, not even trying to hide who you were," she spat. "Please, let me up. You're hurting me."

As if he just noticed that he had her hands in his, his weight on hers, he eased off, placing his body to the side of hers, releasing his grip on her hands, but keeping one arm around her. "I never ever meant to hurt you, Hermione. In any way. You have to believe that."

"Fine, yes, I believe it," she said without conviction. Taking a deep breath, she turned her gaze back to his face. "You must let me help you."

"No one can help me… ever."

**Kiss  
**  
Cedric wanted to let Hermione go. And yet he wanted to implore her to help him. But most of all, he wanted to kiss her so badly that his entire being was hard with want. He looked down her body and then back to her face. She was so beautiful. Her cheeks were pink from exertion, her lips round and full. Being this close to her after so long rendered him speechless. He could barely breathe. Perhaps THIS was why he came back. Perhaps he came back to be with her, even if it were only one last time.

In the time it took his heart to beat a single heartbeat, he leaned his face close to hers, locked his lips upon her mouth, and then sighed as he kissed her.

Her mouth was soft, but stiff under his. He continued to seek something elusive from her, even as his heart banged wildly in his chest, his blood boiling in his veins. He was aware of a heaviness between his legs and couldn't recall the last time he had felt anything akin to the passion he was feeling at this moment.

He couldn't stop if he tried. Her lips parted under his and her taste echoed in his soul. Taking his time to become reacquainted with her, he felt a shudder go through her, passing into him. He wanted her more than he wanted his old life back. He wanted to remove all her clothing, bury himself deep within her, and not let her go.

Then the rational side of him took over and he stopped, although it was hard to do. Pulling back he gazed down at her, he glimpsed confusion and pain in her eyes, which broke through the tumult feelings he was experiencing.

Shattered, broken and afraid, he pushed away further, brushed a single finger down her cheek. "I'm just so bloody sorry about everything."

Holding his hand tightly in both hers so he couldn't retreat and run, she begged, "Come back with me, Cedric. I don't know what's happening… what's real and what's not, but we can work through this together."

He looked down to where she held his hand, glancing at the ring on her fourth finger. "You still have my great aunt's ring."

Exhaling, she answered, "I thought I recalled it belonging to your mother, but yes, I still have the ring. I wear it everyday."

A dry feeling took hold in his throat. What had he done to this woman? Had she put her life on hold for him? "Why, Hermione? Why would you wear my ring?"

"You kept my book," she rationalized.

"Different thing," he smiled. "And I didn't keep your book. It was one of the things my father sold and I stole back, but that's unimportant. Why haven't you moved on, Hermione?"

To avoid his eyes upon her, she looked toward the window. "I was in a relationship with Ron for a while, but it didn't work out."

"Why?" he asked again, his fingers winding back around her wrist.

With a shaky voice she said, "Fine. I haven't moved on. Is that what you want me to admit?"

He pulled on her wrist until she was face to face with him. "No, that's not what I wanted. I never wanted any of this."

"What do you want?" She stiffened in his hold and waited for his answer.

"I want this… you… us. I think that's the real reason I've come back. I came back for you."

Her heart leapt up to her throat. "What are you going to do about it?"

"So many questions," he said with a smile, his hand stroking her hair. "I think I want to do this…" and he trailed off as he began to kiss her again.

**Sensations**

Everything around them stood still as his mouth claimed hers again. Strange sensations radiated from him to her, and she felt almost as if she were melting as he pushed her back on the bed and climbed upon her.

Her lips parted under his, his tongue soft with a warning. She couldn't move, couldn't think, and couldn't comprehend if this was real or a dream. She had always dreamt of Cedric this way, even though the reality was that he had only ever given her a chaste, simple kiss.

This was no chaste, simple kiss. This was all consuming, leisurely journey of his mouth on hers. His hands on her body. His leg between her legs. Her dreams were becoming a reality. Pleasure shot through her when his hands cupped her breasts, sending tingles to each nerve ending. She felt as if this was her first time, and in many ways it was, because it was her first time with him.

They were caught in a violent embrace, his weight upon her body, heat passing between them. No longer in a dark void, her eyes closed, she locked onto his body, and merely 'felt'. It had been so long, so very long.

He smelled just as she remembered. His voice, murmuring her name and other endearments, was the same, too. With the afternoon sunlight bathing them in its glory, she felt vulnerable. She felt alive. She felt loved.

There was no turning back. He kissed her, explored her with his lips and hands. She was aflame. She was tinder, he was fire. Arching against him, she removed his shirt, he kicked off his shoes. She reached behind her and unzipped the dress. He tightened his hold on her and for many long moments she felt suspended in time.

Blood boiling, they came to a turning point, and then it was too late. They made love. They shared each other's secrets. He was back… she reveled in the thought that he was really back. When they were depleted and exhausted, holding to dear life in the other's arms, she finally expelled the breath she was holding.

And that was when he kissed the top of her head and said, "This, Hermione, is why I came back. I came back for this." Brushing her chestnut hair away from his face he smiled and she knew that all she wanted was just to hold him for a while… no, hold him forever.

**Ending**

Sunlight filtered back into the room as Hermione stretched awake. Looking around the small room she called out, "Cedric? Are you there?"

She didn't see him, but it didn't matter. She moved off the bed, feeling better than she'd felt in years, even if her bladder was screaming at her to empty it. Walking around the small room, she opened a door and found a toilet. Smiling, she realized she felt thankful not only for the fact that Cedric had returned, but that there was a toilet.

Finishing quickly, she walked back into the room, looking around closely at everything. She fingered some jewelry on the mantel, looked at some paintings propped against the wall. No matter what, she would help Cedric's re-entry into their world. She would make sure that no one made a spectacle of his reappearance. She would help make sure he wasn't prosecuted for stealing. And mostly, she would tell him what she had wanted to tell him so long ago. She loved him. She really did.

Dressing quickly, she looked in a cupboard for some food, found bread and butter, along with some water, and she ate quickly, wondering where he had gone. She continued to wait several hours later, even as evening replaced the day.

Worrying about him wouldn't make him reappear, she knew that, but she couldn't help the feeling of dread that continued to push down upon her each hour that he was gone. Where was he? Was he stealing something else? Had he gone to tell the Ministry he was back? Had he gone to her flat to get her things so she could move here with him?

That last thought made her smile. She would do that, if he asked her to, no questions asked. With a smile still on her lips she turned to face the door as it swung open. Certain it was he, she bounded across the room.

It was Harry. Behind him was Draco Malfoy.

It was inevitable that Harry and Draco would find her. But frankly, she wanted to go to them first to pave the way for Cedric. She wanted to explain to them the unexplainable, so he wouldn't have to.

Before she could speak Harry pulled her into his arms and said, "Are you alright?"

With her cheek upon his chest she nodded. "Harry, I'm fine, I'm fine. But I have something important to tell you," she started.

"It can wait, we need to get you check out. Malfoy's going to take you to St. Mungo's."

Pushing out of his arms she shook her head no. "I have to wait here. Because, well, you won't believe this, because I didn't at first, but Cedric is back. He's back, Harry. He's not a ghost at all, and while I can't really explain the whys of it all, I know it's him. Nothing else matters, not the robberies, or anything. I promised him we'd take care of it all."

Harry looked over her head to Draco. "What?" she questioned, feeling perturbed. "Listen, I know it's hard to believe, but I've spent the night of the banquet, all day yesterday and last night here with him, even if I was asleep most of the time. He was right here, in this cottage with me. You see, he came back after the final battle. He's real… he's flesh and blood and real. He's sorry for stealing his things back, but that doesn't matter now."

Harry looked at her with such sorrow that she became afraid. She turned to look at Draco. "It's true, Draco. You believe me, don't you?" She walked up to the mantel and took down a brooch. "See. Isn't this the brooch that was stolen from you? You explained it to me, and I think this is it. And look." She ran over to the table next to the bed and held up the book of Edgar Allan Poe poetry. "This book." Clutching it in one hand and holding it aloft, she said, "I gave him this the year he died. He said his father sold it, but he took it back. See, there's an inscription inside." She opened it, feeling frantic, hating their silence. "I wrote under the original inscription, which was written to me, and it says, _'To Cedric. You'll always hold my beating heart in your hands. Every time you read this book I want you to hear it._' See it?"

Running up to Draco, she showed him the passage written in her girlhood scrawl, and said, "It's a play on words, because I told him the story about the beating heart. Do you know that one, Draco?"

He reached up and placed his hand on the back of her head. "Hermione, you have a large knot back here, and I feel dried blood. Did you hit your head?"

"Yes, but what's that got to do with anything?" Feeling exasperated, she ordered, "Just wait and see. He left while I was sleeping, but he'll be back. You'll be shocked to see him, but you'll know I was telling the truth." Even as she made that claim, a burning ache went from her heart to her muscles, making her feel weak and confused.

Stomping her foot she said, "Why won't you say anything? Why don't you both believe me? It's true! I know I didn't believe it at first, but it's true!"

Harry turned her around so she could face him, keeping his hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, the body of Cedric Diggory was exhumed under orders of the Minister of Magic yesterday morning. It's still there. He's dead."

She gasped, began to breath heavily, and backed away from Harry. "No." She repeated that word over and over again. "No." He wasn't really dead. "No." He wouldn't leave her again. "No." She wasn't dreaming. They had really made love this morning. It was real.

Backing up until she hit the hard wall of Draco's body, she turned, clutched his shoulders and screamed, "NO! He was here. It was real!"

"Someone might have been here, or hell, who knows, maybe it was really the ghost of Cedric Diggory, and maybe he had some unfinished business, and he finished it and has now gone on to the unknown, but it wasn't really him, Granger."

Tears burning her eyes she grabbed his shirtfront. "I'm not lying, Draco."

He pulled her to him, brushing his hand down her hair. "I know. I know. You're the most honest person I know, but then where is he, Granger? Where?"

She sobbed, unable to answer his question. Finally, she asked, "How did you find me?"

"Locating spell I put on the hair comb," Draco said in a whisper, holding her tight against him.

"He's left me again, hasn't he?" she asked in such a soft voice.

Draco looked at Harry and asked, "What were they to each other, Potter?"

"I don't know, but apparently he meant more to her than she ever told us." Harry approached her from behind and said, "Let's get you out of here, Hermione."

With the book of poems still in her left hand, she clutched it to her chest and turned toward the room. "What will happen to all of this?"

"We'll return it all to the rightful owners," Harry explained. He walked over to the mantel and picked up the brooch. "Here, Malfoy. I guess this belongs to you."

Draco continued to hold Hermione against him with one hand, the large brooch in the other. "I don't think my father will miss it." Bending slightly, he pinned the heavy piece of jewelry to Hermione's dress and said, "I think it looks prettier on you, Granger."

He turned and began to usher her out of the room. She stopped and wrenched out of his hold, placing the book back on the bed.

"I don't think there's any harm in you keeping the book, Hermione," Harry said from the doorway. "Whoever the ghost stole it from won't miss it, I'm sure. I'll explain that it really belongs to you."

"I don't want it," she said, keeping her tears at bay. "I never want to see it again." Hermione looked at the door; Harry had already turned to leave, but that Draco was waiting for her, hand held outward.

Placing her hand in his, she sighed at the familiar warmth. "Aren't you going to be a prat and say something crass to me? How about what a fool I was to believe in ghosts, or something of the sort?"

Draco placed his hand under her chin, lifting her face slightly so he could stare in her eyes. "Never, Granger. You aren't a fool. If you say Cedric Diggory was back, and that he wasn't a ghost but real, then I believe you."

"But you said you saw his body," she said on a sob.

"And you say he was really here with you last night. Now I ask you, which of us would you believe, me or you?" Smiling a crooked smile at her, he took her hand again and pulled her out of the little cottage, then he Disapparated her home.

After they left, a mist settled over the inside of the cottage, then the book of Edgar Allan Poe poetry disappears, just as the midst dispersed into thin air.

And then it was over.

The true and utter end.


End file.
